Of Boredom and Empty Bottles
by The Joe and Gromit Show
Summary: Joe: Purely a one shot fic. An idea I got and wrote down. Dante, alone, bored and sober. You know something bad is going to happen. R


_Disclaimer: anything copyrighted that's featured in this story is not owned by me._

_Joe: Aha! I actually made a disclaimer that fits perfectly into any category! Some of you will probably recognise the "Joe" thing there as the mark left by the author of "Yet Another DMC Parody". If you check my author profile, you'll find out what it all means. I'm not the author of DEVIL MAY GROW UP AT SOMEPOINT, DAMMIT! A friend of mine is. We share the pen-name. He goes by the nickname "Gromit" and I obviously go by "Joe". _

_This is just a one-shot. It's an idea that managed to survive in my sugar addled brain, and that needs some recognition._

_If you don't like Trish, don't worry. She probably won't make an appearance in this. If you like her, don't worry either, she might make the slightest of appearance._

_I don't care if you review for this or not, as there won't be any sequel. But it would be nice if you gave it a critique, to tell me if the style of writing is good enough. it's a bit more angst than I'm used to. But there will HAVE to be humour in it, it wouldn't be like me if there wasn't._

_Well, here we go._

* * *

Dante Sparda was bored. Which was actually an understatement. Bored normally means an attitude that you get in when you have nothing worthwhile to do. In this case, it means an attitude where you've been lying on your behind for two weeks straight with no business to take care of. The only thing that Dante was taking care of at the moment was his supply of food and beer in the fridge to keep himself alive. Which he was seriously beginning to regret. 

He was still in bed at the at the moment, even though the age worn alarm clock next to him read: 12:47. Dante was usually up at 8 o' clock sharp. He normally felt that every day was a blessing and that you should treat it that way. At the moment though, he would punch anyone in the face who said that to him. He was occupying himself by staring at the ceiling, watching the flies whirl around in their endless journey around the room. He simply could not be bothered to get up. There was no sightings of demons in weeks and the T.V was out for repairs. Ever since Dante had gotten angry and smashed his fist through it when the same advert came on three times in a row. He didn't like wasting his time listening to how "the brilliant power of "Vanish" washing detergent" works. It wasn't exactly a blast making up an excuse as to how the blasted contraption managed to get a massive hole in it to the repairman. The poor man was still worrying how the dirty great hole "just got there by itself."

Dante's stomach growled loudly. Oh well. Maybe he could go downstairs and look depressed enough for Trish to feel sympathetic enough to make him breakfast.

With a heave, Dante lifted himself of the bed and got dressed. When he got downstairs, he noticed that Trish wasn't there. He grumbled; Trish was normally an early riser. In Dante's opinion, she could replace the bleedin' cock in the morning. An image sprang, unbidden in Dante's mind of Trish standing on top of Devil May Cry screaming her head off with the sun rising in the background.

Suddenly a note on the table grabbed his attention. When he picked it up he discovered that it was from Trish. It read:

_On mission, don't know when I'll be back. Keep yourself alive until I come home. And whatever you do, DO NOT ORDER PIZZA! It was hard enough getting you out of that habit. See you soon, Trish._

A scowl broke across Dante's face. Not only was he bored without any company, but the damned woman had read his mind. She normally made sure that Dante didn't order pizza while she was around. Hence the possession of the fridge. But when she actually left the place, the single time that it was possible to eat his favourite meal, she banned him from it. Not that he cared about the ban. The last time he had dared to order a pizza without her consent she had stomped on it with her boot and poured the contents of the bin all over it. She would get her own back if she even _smelled_ pepperoni in his breath.

He was also pissed off with the fact that she had taken a mission on without him knowing. She must have answered the phone while he was asleep. Damn her to hell, she didn't even ask if he wanted to join. His scowl broke into a smirk as he thought up a plan for his revenge. He dashed up the stairs and kicked the bathroom door open. He opened the cabinet with all the toothpaste and medicine in it. Where Trish kept her cosmetics. With a grin he poured tap water into her make up and swished it around. When it was liquid enough he poured it down the sink. He proceeded to utterly destroy everything else there. Then he came to the lipstick. His normally calm mind was filled with evil thoughts. He rushed into Trish's room and started graphitised the wall with lipstick with words I can't mention in this fic since it's K rated. When he was satisfied with his handiwork he binned the lipstick cartridge.

After that he realised that his vandalism had managed to waste away an hour of the day.

His stomach growled even louder than the last time. He decided that it was chow time. He went down and opened the fridge. He was disappointed. All that was left was last night's chicken snack box from the nearby chipper. He would normally have given the chicken a warm greeting, but there was a horrible smell in the air since he opened the fridge and he wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't going to take chances. He looked further in. Nothing worth mentioning. Damn that woman… a pizza would go down nice at the moment…

After half an hours worth of searching the presses, he decided to make do with some mouldy bread with some gone off "I can't believe it's not butter!". He looked in his drinks cabinet. He dropped his plate and fell to his knees; there was no beer left _at all_. Not even a drop of gin to dampen his dry and alcohol free tongue.

He walked downstairs into the office after he had devoured the last of the measly bread (after picking it off the floor). He plonked himself on the chair by his desk and put his feet up, expecting another day of lying there all day. He lay there for quite a while, cursing Trish, the slow T.V repairman and anything else that crossed his mind. The phone rang. Dante excitedly picked it up.

"Hello? Devil May Cry?"

"Hello. Is Ms. Faced there? first name Dee"

"Dee Faced? No this is a devil hun-" the slow realisation hit him like a drunken boxer.

"YOU LITTLE PUNK! YOU'RE LUCKY THAT I DON'T FIND YOU AND FRY YOU INTO A PILE OF ASHES!" There was scattered laughing in the background. Sure, punks act so tough when they've got their friends beside them, but get them alone and they're really just overgrown kindergarten students.

He lay there for God knows how long waiting for a real phone call. He was fighting a losing battle.

Soon he gave up and decided to practise his swordplay. He walked over to his barely visible wall hidden beneath all the swords. He searched for his favourite, hoping to go outside and impress someone with it. His eyes bulged when he realised that Trish must've taken Sparda with her. She would pay when she dragged her miserable carcass back home. How could she have taken his fathers sword? HE DIBSED IT!

Dante supposed that this must have happened again years ago. Dante was almost the exact appearance of his fathers human form. Trish was a replica of Dante's mother. It was possible. Fate really did have a sense of irony. This most likely did happen before; Sparda, wondering where his beloved sword is, then realising that Eva had lost it or had sent it out to be washed or accidentally binned it, in case either of the young twins decided to play with it.

Dante cursed fate, irony and anything else got to do with life, including karma and the ever-nearing apocalypse.

He searched for Alastor and Ifrit, his next favourite weapons. He found their places empty. A vein on his forehead became visible. He would absolutely slice her into little bits when she came home. He ended up with his least favourite weapons; the two swords that hadn't the faintest clue on how to shut up.

He went outside and took a stroll, hoping that Agni and Rudra didn't attract too much attention.

"Nice day, isn't it, brother?" Agni asked his brother politely.

"Yes, master should be grateful, where used to spend _our_ time in the tower, the weather was _never_ good!" Rudra replied.

"Zip it" Dante hissed as a few people stared at him. He only liked people looking at him when he was doing something cool, or when he was in a good mood.

"Yes, master" Rudra said

"Yes, what? What does "Zip it" mean?" Agni asked absent mindedly.

"Well, "Zip it" is used when one person-"

"SHUT UP!" screeched Dante, his eyes twitching with rage; this was definitely **_not_** his day. Ever since he got up he felt that he would regret it later.

Now there was quite a few people staring at Dante as though he was insane. He noticed an old lady shake her head. He muttered curses under his breath; what did he have to do to get people to recognise him? He had saved the world countless times and all he got was to have some old granny shake her head at him! He walked on, ignoring all the people gawping at him. Why should he care? Sure, it was a little irritating, people treating him like an animal at the zoo. Boo-hoo. Who cares? Maybe it _was_ a little more annoying than he just said. Like, had they nothing better to do? Tweedle-de-dee, it doesn't matter. But it was annoying, and he couldn't ignore it. Why didn't they just go back to their regular routine? Who the hell was he kidding? He was surprised that he wasn't already slicing them into bits. The little maggots, he wished that they would all find a cliff and jump off

He soon lost control and yelled at the nearest group of people. The people in question happened to be a group of gang bangers. They happened to be highly offended by the sudden outburst and surrounded Dante.

What are they playing at? Dante thought. Were they all complete idiots? Did they not notice the two highly dangerous swords that he was carrying? Possibly. That didn't matter just then. This was because one of them just punched Dante in the stomach while another brandished a broken beer bottle, pointing it menacingly at Dante. That was the final straw, he had had enough, he really didn't need this. He transformed, replacing his skin with scales and fingers with claws. An orange tinge decorated the air around him. He was about to strike one of them when he realised that they had all left. He turned human and looked around. In the distance he could see the "macho" gang running and screaming for their lives.

He shrugged his shoulders and walked on. He could safely say that all the people that were gawping at him were now safely locked inside their barricaded houses wielding shotguns behind overturned tables.

He went inside Jerry's Bar, his usual hangout on a Friday night. At the moment he had nothing better to do, so this was the best place to be.

Two minutes later he found himself chatting with Jerry, the barman while holding a pint sized glass filled with lager. Agni and Rudra were dipped in a nearby ale to keep them quiet. After a good long while Dante asked for the bill. He was given a nasty surprise.

£56.20.

"WHAT!" he yelled loudly, waking a nearby drunkard "This can't be right, Jerry!"

Jerry was an Irishman that moved in over the last few years. He had a thick Dublin accent and was just after dealing with a drunk; he was not in the mood for an argument.

"Whell, it is. Ye might want ter count the last few pints ye had there"

Dante thought back. He could remember the first few drinks being bought. Then the attractive woman had come in. Dante had bought her two drinks, and was seriously disappointed when she left. Next Agni and Rudra had managed to finish the ale that they were literally taking a scuba in. He _had_ to buy another drink to shut them up. When he thought about it, the bill was right.

Dante left Jerry's with a bad temper and a considerably lighter pocket. Since he was half demon, he had a better resistance to alcohol, making it harder to get him drunk. He was still tipsy though, and his walking pattern had turned very awkward. He looked up at the sky. The sun was setting. Brilliant. The incredibly bad day was coming to an end. Today would probably be better. As he was stumbling down the sidewalk, a group of teenagers outstripped him. He caught a bit of what they were saying, and one of the voices was strangely familiar. Apparently they were going to egg "some tool who owns a weird business'" house. Dante was just about to leave the matter when he copped on. That was an exact summary of the Devil May Cry. And there was the fact that he had left the front door unlocked. Furious (and slightly drunk), he gripped Agni and Rudra and charged as fast as he could towards home.

When he reached the Devil May Cry, his worst fears were confirmed. He found the door wide open, and he could hear chattering and giggling from inside.

He rushed in and found furniture kicked around, the fridge open, items thrown onto the floor, and more importantly, some frightened looking teens staring at him.

Dante growled and gripped Agni and Rudra tighter. They activated, igniting Rudra and making a small gust blow around Agni.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" he bellowed as he lunged at them.

With a few squeals, the group broke up, some of them wisely running for the door, others using the furniture as cover. Dante roared and kicked his desk away, revealing a whimpering boy who was hiding behind it. The boy ran a few steps, standing behind a support beam. Dante followed him. The boy swiftly went to the other side of the beam. Dante leaped over there and swung Agni and Rudra in a sideways guillotine motion. The boy evaded in a well timed duck. Agni and Rudra became jammed in the wooden support beam.

The punks took this as a chance to flee.

With a heavy tug, Dante managed to free Agni and Rudra.

_Creak._ Dante ignored the creak and wondered what would have happened if he hadn't come in time. _Creak._ Would they have destroyed something? _Creaaak. _Maybe they would have stolen some of his weapons. Then he would never have heard the end of it. _Bump, Creeaak. _They would most likely have used the eggs they were carrying once they were finished inside. _Creeeeaaaaak!_

Dante finally noticed the creaking noise. He looked around, searching for the source of the noise. Did those damn punks break something?

_Crrrreeeeaaaaaaakkkkk, BUMP! _

Dante groaned; that wasn't good. He looked up. There were countless cracks in the ceiling, and more were coming out of them. He looked at the support beam. It was almost cut clean through. He gulped. He was just about to do something useful when the support beam snapped.

_Crrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkk!_

His eyes widened. Sweat broke from his forehead.

The roof collapsed. The entire second floor coming downwards to meet the first, smashing everything in the entire building and sending dust, rubble and bricks everywhere.

…….

……..

…….

…….

……

Dante poked his head out of the wreck that he called home. A broken pipe above his head was pouring a seemingly endless supply of water onto his head.

He looked dismally into the distance, hoping to find some kind of reassurance that everything would be o.k.

A silhouette came into view. Dante squinted his eyes and brushed some dirt off his face. The silhouette became closer. Dante groaned as he realised who it was.

Sparda, Alastor and Ifritjoined Trish's jaw as it fell to the ground

"I LEAVE HOME FOR _ONE DAY_ AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENS!" she screeched.

Dante looked glumly at the ground in response, feeling like a two year old who's mother had just caught him doing a misdeed.

"It looks like you're in trouble, master" Agni's muffled voice broke through the silence.

"Shut up" Dante muttered.


End file.
